


In Case of Emergency

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Footnotes, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Minor aziraphale/other, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 03:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Crowley has been in love with Aziraphale since the Garden. But so what? He's more concerned that the angel has such a horrible habit of getting into trouble.





	In Case of Emergency

**Author's Note:**

> An answer to the question: why does Crowley always show up right on time to save Aziraphale?
> 
> I prefer Crawly over Crawley because thats how it is in the books

**Out here I feel more helpless/ with you than without you/ You mention the danger/ and list the equipment/ we talk of people caring for each other/ in emergencies - laceration, thirst -/ but you look at me like an emergency**

-Adrienne Rich

 

_The Before_

In the beginning God created the universe. It should follow that all other things were created shortly thereafter, such as jam, piranhas, and the breadth of human emotion, including but not limited to, love.

This would be a misconception. Romantic love was not created* until 6 weeks later.

*Jam was also not created by God, rather by overzealous humans who wanted something to put on toast

It would be easy to assume that the first instance of romantic love occurred between the two humans who lived in the Garden. But at the time, romantic love was not part of procreation and Adam and Eve were really just good friends.

No, this romantic love burst suddenly into existence in the heart of a demon as he looked at the angel Aziraphale along the Eastern wall of the Garden of Eden. At the time, the demon had no idea what was squirming inside him. Happiness, a feeling he remembered from heaven, and pain which he remembered from the Fall. The combination of the two was so acute and so perplexing that he decided to think on it later, preferring to focus on the conversation at hand which was truly...fascinating.

“Didn’t you have a sword?”

“I gave it away,” the angel said, embarrassed.

“You what?” the demon replied and the peculiar feeling increased tenfold. The angel blustered.

 _This one, this one, this one_ , a voice not unlike a serpent hissed in the back of his mind.

Lightning crashed above them and the demon Crawly shifted on his feet. What would rain be like? Would it hurt?

He didn’t have to find out because a bright white wing appeared above his head as Aziraphale stepped closer. His entire being relaxed like a sigh and he realized he felt _safe_.

It took two thousand years for Crawly—now Crowley—to figure out exactly what the squirming sensation was and that it was directly related to Aziraphale’s presence. They had run into each other a dozen times and every one left Crowley thinking on Aziraphale’s brightness for nearly a century after, the memories of their little exchanges returning at the most inopportune times, making him feel...making him _feel_.*

*Crowley was certain such feelings were not in line with demonic expectations and therefore felt rather sick about it all

He was sat about a brothel drinking terrible wine and waiting to inspire just the right amount of lust to make people forget their vows when one of the men on offer came into the room with another female prostitute.

“I love him and it hurts, you know? He comes, he pays, he leaves, and I just want him to stay,” the man said, throwing himself down on a cushion.

_Aziraphale leaves and you always want him to stay._

Well, that was an unwelcome thought.

“That’s love, sweetheart. Always hurting when it’s not returned,” the woman replied as she poured the young man some wine.

“He just makes me so happy,” the man said mournfully, staring into his cup.

The description made Crowley’s ears burn, and he dropped his wine. A serving girl came and wiped up the spill, but Crowley barely noticed as he stared into the distance, his mind whirring.

_Happy_

_Hurt_

_Love_

_FUCK_

Demon’s weren’t supposed to _love_ , that was all God’s stuff*. Oh no. Absolutely disgusting. He was going to get a reprimand.

*This was blatantly false but you could see why a demon would believe it.

So when Crowley heard word of a particular temple that performed miracles—honest to Go- _somebody_ miracles—he skirted through the cities in the valley to find it. Sure enough, a white-haired man who glowed brighter than any star frequented the temple, greeting people on the streets, and helping the poor.

Crowley laid low, paying peasants to keep an eye on the angel and to report back. When he heard word that a particular businessman* didn’t like what was happening and had hired a group of thugs to attack the angel, Crowley took matters into his own hands and went directly to the temple.

*Capitalists hate miracles

“Aziraphale! Fancy seeing you here!” he said, find the new knowledge of the nature of his feelings rather distressing.

The angel smiled and that same familiar feeling of pain and joy erupted inside Crowley. He suppressed a grimace. He was ruined, wasn’t he?

“Oh! Crawly, what business do you have here? I haven’t heard word of any, well, darker doings,” the angel said in a low voice as he leaned into Crowley.

“It’s Crowley now.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, eyes flitting about like he didn’t know where to look while Crowley leered over him. Crowley didn’t like how uncomfortable he looked so he tried to dial down the leering.

“I’m always around, angel,” Crowley said, painfully aware that Aziraphale was, at most, a few inches away from him. The desire to envelop the angel in his arms and circle his black wings about them overtook him. Was this love? Was he bound to suffer like this forever? He had heard love among humans was ephemeral, strong one season and gone the next. Perhaps it would be like that between them.

 _It’s been this way for two milliennia, don’t kid yourself,_ that same serpentine voice from the Garden hissed.

“Besides, I heard there was about to be a bit of a ruckus concerning a white haired man who was performing too many good deeds,” Crowley said, moving out of the way of a passerby. Perhaps he could convince Aziraphale to go inside somewhere to be alo—away from prying eyes.

“Oh bother,” Aziraphale said and Crowley smirked. The way he huffed and puffed was _cute_. “I suppose I’ll have to change locations again. I was finally settling in here you know?”

Crowley nodded in understanding*

*He did not understand, he didn’t settle anywhere really

“Where are you staying these days? Do they have any extra rooms available?” Aziraphale said. A bird flapped by, distracting the angel and Crowley’s mouth went dry. The prospect of Aziraphale always being nearby where Crowley could keep an eye on him was extremely appealing. On the other hand, having to see the angel constantly would most likely have a detrimental effect on his health what with all the heart racing and stomach flopping. What a ghastly physical response.

“Oh, here and there,” Crowley said dismissively, not missing the way Aziraphale’s face fell.

“I suppose being around each other for too long isn’t the best way to go about things. Then we’re really only thwarting each other, not doing our best work. A waste of both our talents.”

“Sure, yes,” Crowley said. He’d stopped listening when Aziraphale had started talking, too absorbed in the sound of his voice to actually hear the words.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Aziraphale said turning away with a sharp wave of his hand. Crowley stepped forward and froze, realizing he had been about to follow after the angel. What for? Like a lovesick puppy he was.

Instead of giving into those pathetic urges, Crowley only submitted to a small transgression. A compromise.

If he couldn’t always be around then he’d at least like to keep an eye on Aziraphale. He reached into the angel’s aura with his power—subtly enough that Aziraphale hopefully wouldn’t feel it—and twisted its frequency until he could hear the hum.

That should do it.

Anybody threatened his—the angel and Crowley would know.

^^^

While Crowley told himself that he'd only use the connection in case of emergency, it an unexpected consequence that Crowley had difficulty resisting. Crowley could always find Aziraphale wherever he was.

It made it easy to place himself in view of the angel, make sure they were in the same cities at the same times, orchestrating run ins. In the early years of Crowley’s infatuation* he had nurtured a small hope that spending time with Aziraphale would foster the same emotion in him that Crowley had been cradling for centuries. However, he’d come to accept that he was desperate for any time with the angel and would follow after him until he was told to piss off.

*Crowley had decided to stop calling it love at some point after the birth of Christ because _love_ sounded depressingly soft and he was a _demon_ not a starstruck teenager

Crowley was in Anatolia to seed some minor political discord when the hum of Aziraphale’s presence made itself known. The angel was in the city. He dropped some coin to the innkeeper he was speaking to and wandered through the streets focused on the buzz under his skin like a divining rod. It seemed Aziraphale wasn’t in trouble* so Crowley tried to keep himself at a sedate pace, denying that he was absolutely thrilled at the possibility of seeing the angel again. It had been nearly a hundred years since the Balkans and Crowley did not like going that long without seeing him.

*Yet

He found Aziraphale in low conversation with a fruit seller, the angel picking over apricots with delicate hands. Crowley cleared his throat and Aziraphale looked up, his eyebrows going up as his eyes crinkled in surprise. “Crawly!”

“Crowley,” he corrected, trying not to feel offended by the fact that Aziraphale couldn’t even remember that he changed his name when Crowley remembered the last thing Aziraphale had said to him.*

*The exact wording had been “Quit loitering. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“What are you doing here, angel?”

Aziraphale clucked his tongue. “No shop talk, remember?”

Crowley had mistakenly agreed to Aziraphale’s ridiculous request when they were out for dinner in Greece. _I’m happy to go out to dinner and swap stories but no business! It wouldn’t be right._

And tantalized by the possibility of any additional time with Aziraphale, Crowley had agreed to his terms.

The merchant coughed and drew their attention. “Oh I am sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale said to the man before turning back to Crowley, “Have you ever had apricots?”

Crowley shook his head. He didn’t much go in for food, much preferring alcohol to any other human substances. Aziraphale loved food though, and so Crowley tried everything he suggested. It was usually fairly tasty*

*the salted fish had been an exception

“Two apricots, please,” Aziraphale said with a satisfied smile as he handed over the payment. The merchant nodded and the angel plucked two fruits from the stand. He tossed one to Crowley.

“Tell me what you think?” Aziraphale said, looking at him expectantly.

The apricot was tiny in his palm as he turned it over and he hummed before biting into the small thing, juice exploding into his mouth. It was as sweet and soft as it looked. “S’good,” he said as juice dribbled down his chin.

Aziraphale’s smile got a little brighter and Crowley had a thought* that terrified him.

*The thought was: _I would do anything to make him smile like that again_

“Big bad demon eating an apricot as messy as the rest of them,” Aziraphale said with a little chuckle.

“What about the big bad angel doing the sssame?” Crowley shot back, wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve, embarrassment causing a slight stutter.

“I’m not supposed to be big and bad. I’m supposed to be _relatable_ ,” Aziraphale said as he took a prim little bite of the apricot.

“And being a messy eater makes you relatable?”

“It is very human you know,” Aziraphale pointed out.

They walked through town for a bit, Crowley happy to listen to Aziraphale’s adventures throughout the last century, his voice as joyous as it had been on the wall outside the Garden, with the occasional commentary that reminded Crowley that Aziraphale really was a little mischievous.* They stopped at the river bank and sat on a stone. Crowley threw the pit of his fruit into the lazily flowing river.

*Apparently heaven allowed some punishment of mortals who strayed and Aziraphale was _very_ good at executing that punishment

“The room I’m renting is above a lovely little tavern. They have a very good wine if you’d be interested.”

“I’m interested,” Crowley said trying to sound nonchalant.*

*It was more along the lines of ecstatic

“Delightful! It’s been quite a while since I’ve had good company,” Aziraphale said to himself as he stood and brushed the dirt off of his robes. He seemed to feel Crowley’s incredulous look because when he glanced back up he colored and rushed to say, “Not that humans are bad company per se, it’s just that they’re so _young_ you know and they absolutely do not understand the problems associated with immortality—”

Crowley waved a hand. “You don’t have to explain it to me, angel. Do I look like I have loads of human friends waddling about?”

“Er, I suppose not.”

Crowley lifted his shoulders as if to say _See?_

Aziraphale laughed softly and offered Crowley his arm which the demon took hesitantly. As he hooked his elbow through Aziraphale’s, Crowley realized it was the first time they had ever touched on purpose and it made him feel like he might fall over.

He gripped Aziraphale’s arm tighter. The angel didn’t seem to mind, he just smiled.

When Aziraphale placed a carafe of wine between them on the long table of the inn, Crowley was still tingling, the buzz of Aziraphale’s aura combined with the memory of his warm skin making him distracted. Thankfully, Aziraphale attributed his behavior to the hustle and bustle of the tavern.

“Let’s go up to my room,” Aziraphale offered. “It’s much quieter.”

Crowley found himself trailing after the angel up a set of rickety stairs and into a boarding room with a low sleeping pallet. Aziraphale collapsed onto the soft surface and patted the blanket beside him. “Sit.”

Crowley folded up his limbs, feeling awkward as he sat beside the angel, his back pressed into the wall. Aziraphale gave a low hum of satisfaction as Crowley settled in beside him. “Would you like to play a little game I learned a few years ago?”

Crowley tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m always in for a little competition.”

Aziraphale smirked and Crowley decided he might like that expression even more than the bright smiles. There was something _wicked_ about it. The angel miracled a small table to settle over their legs and three cups. He pulled a coin from his pocket and explained.

“The point is to bounce the coin into the cup. If you make it, I drink. If you miss, you drink.”

Crowley chuckled. “That’s a game? Seems an excuse to get sloshed.”

Aziraphale turned slightly pink. “Well it’s that too. But the drunker you are the harder it gets and then it really is quite fun.”

Crowley hid his rather strong feelings of disbelief and let Aziraphale pour him a hearty amount of honeyed wine. Aziraphale held up his cup to cheers and Crowley tapped their glasses together.

Sure enough, an hour later Crowley felt the numbness in his limbs he associated with good drink and lots of it. Aziraphale bounced his quarter cleanly into the cup and Crowley looked at him suspiciously. “Are you using your powers?”

“I would not!” Aziraphale blustered. “That would be cheating.”

“Sure, angel,” Crowley said, slurping at his wine before taking a shot. He missed and drank again.

The game devolved until they were really just drinking, the carafe miraculously refilling. They moved the table away from them when Crowley nearly kicked it over trying to get more comfortable.

“You’d think after several thousand years that you’d get used to having legs,” Aziraphale said, poking at Crowley’s thighs.

Crowley’s breath hitched and he tried to focus through his drunken haze, reminding himself that he needed to stay in control. “I’m used to having legs, sweetheart, I’m drunk. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

He cringed. Sweetheart?

Aziraphale’s hand stayed where it was on his leg for a moment before the angel flopped over to face him, his neck bent awkwardly as his head pressed into the wall. “Do you ever get lonely?”

“I think being alone is part of the job,” Crowley said frankly, still thinking about how _hot_ Aziraphale’s palm had been. Did angels run at a higher temperature?*

*Angels in human form were precisely 99.1 degrees at all times

“Not just alone though. Lonely,” Aziraphle said, sounding despondent.

“I try not to think about it.”

“I think I’m less lonely when I’m with you,” Aziraphale said. His eyes were shining as they bore into Crowley’s and it took all of his willpower not to pull the angel to the ground until their bodies pressed together, soft and sweet and safe.

But that wouldn’t do. Neither of their sides would like that and Crowley wouldn’t risk Aziraphale. Better he was around and out of reach.

“I’m going to go,” Crowley said, standing up abruptly. He swayed on his feet for a moment before forcefully sobering up. Aziraphale looked up at him sadly. “See you in the next century, angel.”

“Goodbye, Crowley.”

He left the tavern and walked through the night feeling very much the fool.

It was longer than a century, it was nearly two. But just because one hundred and ninety years passed before Crowley saw the angel again, didn’t mean that he didn’t think about him. He was content* just to know he was out there, safe.

*This was a lie

^^^

Crowley told himself that he wasn’t avoiding the angel in hopes of dispelling whatever attachment he felt, but it seemed with every passing year he only missed Aziraphale more, wanting to hear his take on the latest empire and taste all the new foods he had tried since they had last seen each other.

He was beginning to recognize that perhaps this was simply what his existence would be like, loving a being who could not love him back.

One night in the 700s, Crowley was sulking—why did the angel never reach out? Why was it always him?—in his most recent boarding house, a dilapidated thing that he absolutely hated, when the buzz that reminded him Aziraphale was safe somewhere turned into a cacophony so loud that Crowley jumped. With little regard for anything else, he yanked himself through space and appeared outside a burning building he didn’t recognize. He almost rushed into the building, certain Aziraphale was inside, but he heard the sounds of arguing. One voice he knew was Aziraphale, and the other sounded dreadfully familiar. He reeled as a memory from thousands of years ago hit him.

_Gabriel._

Lightning crashed and the voice disappeared along with the ringing of Aziraphale’s aura as it settled back into it’s normal hum. Aziraphale stepped out of the building looking a little singed with soot smeared across his nose and Crowley tried to look like he was there for literally any other reason* than to check in on Aziraphale.

*In this case, he decided the most inconspicuous action would be to poke at the wooden wall behind him as if looking for structural flaws.

“What are you doing here, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, sounding tired and entirely not himself.

A screaming citizen ran by, followed by a group of soldiers and Crowley waved after them lazily. “I heard there was a bit of a ruckus. Wanted to check in.”

“I didn’t realize you were in Guangzhou,” Aziraphale said. “We usually run into each other during these sort of things.”

“Got here pretty recently,” Crowley hedged.

A booming sound echoed from the east and Aziraphale sighed. “That must be the ships.”

“What happened?” Crowley asked, trying to sound like he didn’t care.

“Just a bit of a reprimand,” Aziraphale said, gesturing at the burning building behind him. “Apparently, I didn’t do enough work to avoid the city being taken.”

“They expect you to stop a whole city from being overrun?” Crowley asked. “Do they know that’s nearly impossible? Free will being what it is.”

“I tried to explain but Gabriel can be rather...I do hate to speak ill of a colleague,” Aziraphale said, scrubbing at his face with his dirty hands, spreading the soot further across his pale skin.

“I can infer,” Crowley said as he imagined a wet rag appearing in his hand and then it was there. He handed it to Aziraphale like he didn’t care at all what he did with it.

Aziraphale looked between the rag and Crowley and then hesitantly used it to wipe away the worst of the gunk. It sat limply in his hand when the black streaks were gone and the angel emitted a groan that turned into a sharp growl of irritation as the angel stomped his foot.

“Well, that’s new,” Crowley said and Aziraphale threw the rag at him.

“I’m frustrated, Crowley. You must be familiar with the emotion.”

Crowley blinked at him and Aziraphale sighed. “I just want to get out of Guangzhou.”

“I’ve got the perfect place.”

Crowley reached out and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand before winking them from the burning streets of Guangzhou to a beach in the south of France. The wind whipped about them, carrying away the ash that had settled in their air. The sun illuminated Aziraphale’s white hair like a halo and all Crowley could think was how much he wanted to touch it.

He looked down and kicked at the sand.

“Oh, this is nice,” Aziraphale said, turning to face the ocean. “France?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, still scrubbing through the sand with his toes. “Thought you’d like it is all.”

“Hmmm,” Aziraphale said as he closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze. “Maybe I’ll stay in Europe for a while. I’ve missed it.”

The loud racing of Crowley’s heart was too much for him and he felt like he had to get away or he might explode. “Well, I’ve got to get up to England for another gig. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Aziraphale looked back at him, something tight in his expression. “Perhaps.”

Crowley swallowed hard and imagined himself back up to England where he fell on his bed in the boarding house, deciding that a good week long mope was in order.

^^^

He ran into Aziraphale on a foggy field a century later and he couldn’t help the frustration he felt when the angel called him Crawly _again_. The frustration only got worse when he realized they’d been working directly against each other and doing absolutely nothing.

He suddenly felt tired. So tired. Tired of wandering about doing Hell’s whims in the cold and damp. Tired of missing Aziraphale with no end in sight*.

*Of course the Apocalypse was coming one day but Crowley did _not_ like to think about that.

So when Aziraphale gasped at the mere suggestion that they _maybe_ take a break and stomped off, Crowley had to remind himself not to chase after him. They’d see each other again soon and he wasn’t about to act _desperate_.

Aziraphale’s tingles remained a persistent thrum at the back of his mind that he forgot about until they wavered. The klaxons of Aziraphale’s aura rang out, waking him from his nap. Crowley blinked and felt cobwebs unstick from his lashes. He sneezed and a puff of dust came out. How long had he been asleep?

The warning grew louder and Crowley wished his way to Aziraphale, still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he winked into existence in a muddy crowd.

“Please, this is all a misunderstanding,” the angel pleaded from where he was tied to a stake in the middle of the village square. “I’m not a—”

“Witch, Witch, Witch,” the villagers chanted and a strong wave of protectiveness swirled through Crowley, stoked quickly to rage.

The leader of the group had tossed a torch onto the wood and it burst into flame.

Crowley roared.

“Get out!” he shrieked as he turned his skin to scales and released his black wings. “He’sss mine.”

In horrifying surround sound,* the villagers screamed at the sight of the demon and fled, leaving Aziraphale to burn. Crowley flapped his wings and dove into the flames, ripping the stake from it’s moors and lifting the beam—Aziraphale and all—into the sky.

*the author is using this hyperbolically as surround sound had not been invented yet

Crowley ignored the angel’s stuttering thanks and set them down in a cornfield where he whirled on him. “What the _FUCK_ _WAS THAT_? Could you not have used a little power to get to safety? Something? Anything?”

Aziraphale shifted his weight from foot to foot and glanced above Crowley, making the demon realize his wings were still extended. He took a deep breath and pulled them back in.

Aziraphale mumbled something and Crowley took a step forward, still enraged. “What wassss that, angel? Hmm?” he hissed, slinking up to Aziraphale.

“I was given orders not to interfere with the witch trials. Under _any_ circumstances,” Aziraphale said on a whine. Crowley huffed.

“And almost being killed wasn’t a good enough reason to break the rules?”

“Discorporated,” Aziraphale corrected. “Besides, you know how I feel about rules, Crowley.” Aziraphale put his hands on his hips, the scolding effect somewhat ruined by the burned tatters of his hoes.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, but was saved from having to come up with an appropriately biting remark by Aziraphale reaching out and plucking something from his hair.

“You’ve got a spider...here,” Aziraphale said. He grasped the thing and then laid it on the ground to scuttle away. Crowley gave it the stink eye and it ran away faster.

“I must say you look a little less...well, a little less coiffed than normal. When did you decide to grow a beard?”

Crowley reached up and touched his chin in shock, the hair was nearly down to his chest. That would _not_ do. He blushed, embarrassed that Aziraphale was seeing him like this. He liked to look a certain way when he saw his angel.  “What year is it?”

“What year—my dear boy, where have you been? It’s 1416.”

Crowley grimaced. That explained the hair. He’d been asleep for 90 years.

“Stay out of trouble angel,” Crowley said. He needed to leave before he took too long to think on how he looked.

“I’m not sure if I can. I’ve got quite a bit of work to do in this village and I—it’s not going to go too well I think,” Aziraphale said with a frown.

“I’ll do it,” Crowley volunteered without really thinking.

“You’ll—are you sure? It requires performing real miracles and helping people,” Aziraphale said, sounding excited at the offer.

“It’s all the same to me. Besides, I owe you one from Egypt,” Crowley said dismissively. Aziraphale looked around him, panicked.

“Don’t talk about Egypt,” he said through gritted teeth.

Crowley held up his hands. “Sure, mum’s the word.”

Aziraphale explained the last few parts of his assignment and Crowley made his excuses.

“I’ve got to, erm, clean up, so why don’t you lie low for a bit while I take care of things.”

Before Crowley could pop off, Aziraphale put a hand on his forearm and he froze. “Perhaps you could tell me before you decide to sleep through a century?”

Crowley twisted his hips in an attempt at his usual swagger.* “Did you miss me?”

*he looked rather sickly instead

Aziraphale spluttered and Crowley gave him a wicked grin before disappearing. Maybe his plan* was working.

*his plan had so far consisted of waiting around for 5 millennia while trying to get Aziraphale’s affection which had largely been unsuccessful as Crowley was easily discouraged and also slept a great deal during what could be considered prime wooing hours

While Crowley was realizing he would do almost anything if Azirahale asked—which, yes, was absolutely pathetic, he was aware—he was disappointed to realize that the advent of their Arrangement coincided with a kind of nervousness in the angel that precluded any real closeness. Gone were the days of getting drunk in each other’s rooms and sharing dinners, now it was all furtive meetings and short exchanges.

Crowley still felt the same ache in Aziraphale’s presence, but the feelings had been around so long that they became a fact of his existence. He’d loved Aziraphale since the dawn of time,* and had spent all of his existence becoming fairly certain that love wasn’t going anywhere. So Crowley accepted the truth of it and resolved to simply be there. To protect him.

*6 weeks after

The French Revolution was in full swing and Crowley was steadfastly avoiding the entire region. He’d gotten a commendation for the whole thing but it really wasn’t his style.

Aziraphale’s aura rang an alarm in Crowley’s head while he was unscrewing recently canned cherries in Spain. Sighing, he brushed off his hands and wished himself to Aziraphale’s side.

The angel was in the Bastille. For some reason not miracling himself away like he should have.

Apparently he was in trouble for doing too many miracles? Sounded silly to Crowley. Wasn’t the angel on earth to perform miracles?

After they left the jail, Aziraphale took him to a little bakery in the countryside and got the crepes he’d apparently been craving. Crowley had never had them before and didn’t exactly understand the appeal. But the happy noises Aziraphale made while he chewed were _very_ appealing so Crowley ate his food like a good little demon* and told Aziraphale how tasty he thought it was.

*This is only an expression. Crowley was not _good_

The angel took several loaves of brioche to go and while the proprietor was bundling the purchase, he looked at Crowley out of the corner of his eye. The demon raised an eyebrow.

“I recently settled into a shop in London. Would you—perhaps would you like to come see it?”

Crowley jumped at the chance to spend time with Aziraphale. They’d only shared short meetings for the last several centuries and the prospect of time together, in the quiet, was more appealing than Crowley would have liked to admit.

Crowley took them across the channel to an old shop in London which Aziraphale led him into proudly. “It’s got all sorts of things,” Aziraphale said, “Dishware from China, art from India, books! I’ve been collecting a lot of those.”

The room smelled exactly like Aziraphale, old but bright. “Very nice,” Crowley said, breezing past the windows.

Aziraphale fixed him with another shining smile. “I thought you’d like it.”

Crowley hummed, trailing his hand down a stack of papers savoring the way they rustled over his fingers. The angel’s hands fluttered in front of him before he reached up to take off his hat.

“Could I interest you in a drink? I’ve got a good collection started. ”

“You can always interest me,” Crowley said before he thought better of it. Aziraphale turned pink and very obviously pretended not to hear him.

“Have you had champagne yet?”

When they ended up on Aziraphale’s rather uncomfortable couch and Aziraphale was asking him if he’d read any Jonathan Swift, a wave of possessiveness washed over Crowley.

“I think you’d like him, my dear. Very tongue in cheek,” Aziraphale said, setting down his glass.

They hadn’t had enough to be truly drunk, just the beginnings of a buzz in their fingertips. Maybe it was the rounding of the angel’s cheeks or the way he licked his lips, but the voice from the Garden was back. It had been silent so long.

_This one, this one, this one._

Crowley closed his eyes behind his dark glasses and took a deep breath. “It’s getting rather late,” he said. It was an invitation couched in an innocuous statement. Something Aziraphale could ignore if he wished.

The brief pause made Crowley fairly certain that Aziraphale knew exactly what he had meant.

“I’d offer my couch but I don’t think Above would be very happy to hear I was letting a demon sleep in my shop,” Aziraphale said softly, a rejection. A kind one, but still a rejection.

“I suppose you’re right,” Crowley said, standing up. Of course Aziraphale was right. It was just a moment of weakness.

“It’s always good to see you, you know,” Aziraphale said. Crowley waved him off and wished himself back to his flat. He needed a nap.

^^^

In 1875, Crowley was busy setting all the public clocks to different times in King’s Cross when what he’d begun to think of as his Aziraphale alarm went off, almost making him punch a hole in the glass face of the clock.

The tenor of the change didn’t sound exactly like the wailing sirens of previous emergencies but Crowley pulled himself to Aziraphale just the same.

He appeared outside a wooden door and frowned, the sounds of rustling beyond the door giving Crowley pause.The clanging in his mind continued so he pushed into the room and stopped dead on the carpet.

Aziraphale was in the lap of a man. Aziraphale’s clothes were half off. Aziraphale’s waistcoat and pants were unbuttoned. Aziraphale’s tongue was in someone else’s mouth.

Crowley let out a strangled noise and Aziraphale turned.

The clanging stopped.

Aziraphale scrambled out of the man’s lap and Crowley snapped his fingers, freezing him. Aziraphale looked at his partner and then back at Crowley, expression dark. “What are you doing, Crowley?”

Crowley took in his surroundings for the first time. A library, other couples twisted together on the floor and other couches, frozen due to Crowley’s abrupt use of his power.

“Are you at an orgy?” Crowley asked, his dark glasses sliding down his nose as he looked around.

Aziraphale puffed out his chest like a disgruntled bird.* “That doesn’t answer my question.”

*a particular genus of robin

“Aren’t demons the ones that are supposed to be at orgies?” he countered. His heart was slamming into his ribcage, equal parts jealousy and arousal at the sight of Aziraphale, kiss bitten and ravished.

“I don’t know, I’m not one,” Aziraphale said and he actually sounded _angry._ Crowley argued with the contrite thing in his chest that told him to let it go, but he refused to back down.

“Oh really? Between us, who’s succumbed to lust, hmm?” Crowley said, stepping forward. He wasn’t much taller than Aziraphale but he did his best to stare down at him. “Isn’t _that_ a demon thing?”

“Not if it’s an expression of love,” Aziraphale said firmly and Crowley felt as if his knees were about to give out.

“Love?” he croaked.

“Yes. I love Oscar and he loves me and God does not frown upon expressions of love. You wouldn’t understand. Demons can’t love,” Aziraphale said, looking away.

The myriad emotions Crowley had been experiencing focused into one clear feeling: rage. “I used to be an angel, you know,” he growled. Their eyes met and for a moment, Crowley thought that, if he leaned down and closed the gap between their mouths, Aziraphale might not push him away.

Aziraphale’s expression twisted into frustration and then he sighed. “Unfreeze them, please. Do whatever you want. It’s not my business why you’re here.”

Crowley wanted to protest, say that he’d tell Aziraphale anything he wanted to know, but instead he worked his jaw and snapped his fingers. He wandered through the room—the sounds of humans coupling echoing in his ears—before imagining himself elsewhere.

What would it be like to touch Aziraphale? To kiss him? Crowley had never thought beyond the feeling of the angel’s warm body pressed against his, closed in the circle of his arms as they lay quietly together. And now, that fantasy included things like ripped waistcoats and heavy breathing. The possibility of being even _closer_.

He was lying on his settee,* busy contemplating all the possible impossibilities when he heard the telltale slurping sound of Hastur’s arrival. “What do you want?” Crowley asked, not looking up.

*where he had been for nearly a week feeling sorry for himself

“We have heard word that you have been meeting with the angel Aziraphale.”

That made Crowley sit up. “Just business. You know. Tempting. Threatening.”

Hastur’s boiled-covered face scrunched up. “That’s not what I heard.”

“I haven’t had a chance to send down the report.”

Hastur considered that for a moment. “Fine. But know that Beelzebub doesn’t take kindly to...fraternization.”

Crowley leapt up and started pacing. Worst case scenario. Hell knew and Hell didn’t like it.

“Fuck!” he yelled, kicking over a chair. It clattered mournfully and he glared at it.

He needed Aziraphale’s help. As loathe as he was to reach out to the angel after the very...awkward encounter, he scribbled out a note and sent it to Aziraphale’s shop with a quick wish.

He hoped the angel would come.

And he did, appearing in the park looking uncomfortable. Crowley stared stalwartly forward refusing to acknowledge what he had seen the previous week, and what it had made him think about every day since.

When Aziraphale chastised him for even _thinking_ about getting holy water, Crowley’s hackles rose again. It was to protect him. To protect _them._

They avoided each other for fifty years, not even reaching out for the sake of the Arrangement. Crowley knew they lived in the same part of London, but they never ran into each other. Crowley tried to forget the angel even existed.

So it was unfortunate when, still feeling rather righteously angry,* Crowley was pulled out of a poker game by the warning bells of Aziraphale’s aura. He threw his cards down and folded with an irritated groan before following the direction of the alarm.

*Crowley was exceptionally good at holding on to a grudge

“You don’t care about him,” Crowley grumbled to himself as he marched up to the church. “You’re just doing this because it would be irritating to deal with a replacement.”

But his excuses went out the window when Aziraphale turned his bright expression to him, eyes glowing and smile so wide that Crowley felt weak under the power of it. He exploded those awful Nazis but saved Aziraphale’s books and when he handed them to the angel, Crowley waved off any thanks, preferring a cold exchange to the threat of _feeling_.

And some twenty years later, Aziraphale actually _gave_ him the holy water and it felt something like an apology but still wasn’t and when the angel got out of his car, it definitely felt like a rejection.

 _You go too fast for me_ , the angel had said.

Crowley was pretty sure he’d been going painfully slow since that day in Eden.

Then the apocalypse almost happened and it was a burning bookshop and Aziraphale’s constant hum disappearing and Crowley’s heart broke in a way he didn’t even think it could. And when it all went pear-shaped*, it seemed like sides didn’t really matter anymore and Crowley was glad because it meant he didn’t have to hide anything anymore. Not his joy, not his wants, not Aziraphale. And when they were sitting together in the brightness of the Ritz he realized it was more than he ever thought he’d have so he smiled and drank and tried the food and oh, it felt like happiness.

*Crowley did not like pears

^^^

_The After_

Crowley kicked at Aziraphale’s thigh with his foot. The angel looked at him over his ridiculous reading glasses and pursed his lips. “What do you want, Crowley?”

“I’m bored,” he announced. Aziraphale had been sitting there on the end of the couch _reading_ for what felt like an eternity.*

*It obviously was not

“I don’t see why that’s my problem,” Aziraphale replied primly.

Crowley groaned and sat up, swinging his legs out of Aziraphale’s lap. “I’m going shopping and I’m not going to get you anything,” Crowley threatened.

“I don’t need anything, my dear,” Aziraphale said, going back to his book.

Crowley slammed out of the bookshop and onto the street. The crowds were the same as they always were and it made Crowley smile. Then he scowled. No smiling on the streets. That made people _talk_ to you.

He went into the nearest shop and wandered around. He hadn’t actually wanted to leave Aziraphale’s bookshop. He was just trying to prove a point. He only ever really went to the shop when Aziraphale ran out of milk or crisps or was craving a certain chocolate.

Crowley picked up a package of Aziraphale’s favorite biscuits and decided to buy it, his glare enough to make the teenage cashier cower.

Ever since the apocalypse, Crowley had been certain they would finally talk about it. The thing. His thing. The feelings.

But Aziraphale never brought it up. He didn’t mention how Crowley had demanded they run off together, or his state after the bookshop and so Crowley was pushing.

This pushing took the form of touching, and lots of it. Crowley would casually put his legs in Aziraphale’s lap when they sat on the couch. He would pat Aziraphale’s hand at dinner. Rub his back when he rolled his shoulders like they were stiff.

And still the angel said nothing, just leaned into him and smiled.

It was enough to drive Crowley mad.

When Crowley returned to the shop and tossed the pack of biscuits onto the couch, Aziraphale looked up at him and said, “Really, darling, you should be more careful. The biscuits will get all crumbly.”

Crowley growled and threw himself down into the soft chair across from the couch.

“You are being very dramatic and it is not very becoming,” Aziraphale said with a sigh, putting his book aside.

“Not very becoming,” Crowley mocked.

“Is there something you’d like to say?” Aziraphale said, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Crowley’s mouth clamped shut. They stared at each other.

“I didn’t think so. Now, I’d like to finish my book so if you could run along and be bored elsewhere, I would be very thankful.”

So Crowley went on a drive, trying very hard to will his energy into the speed of the vehicle as it blared _The Show Must Go On_ which felt far too dramatic even for him. When that didn’t work he went home and tried to find satisfaction in yelling at his plants.

Still feeling manic, he decided the only course of action was to lay down and have a good pout. A loud crash of lightning made him jump to his feet. An angel* was in his flat.

*This was not entirely unheard of since Aziraphale often visited, but this was not Aziraphale and was therefore quite shocking

“Erm,” Crowley said.

“Hello, Crowley,” the angel said with a simpering smile and Crowley hated him immediately.

“Can I, erm, help you?”

“There hasn’t been much demonic activity in London lately and we wanted to check in. See if you were still afoot. Are you afoot?”

“I’m bloody here, aren’t I?”

The angel gave him a once over and then, with another lightning strike, disappeared.

A very terrified Aziraphale appeared in the doorway. “Crowley?”

Stunned, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Something very weird—”

“Oh thank God,” Aziraphale said, rushing across the room and pulling Crowley into a hug.

Crowley didn’t think they had ever embraced like this.* His heart was beating far too wildly in his chest as he lifted his arms to give Aziraphale a half-hearted pat on the back. How did hugs work?

*they had once when they were drunk, but it had been an accident

“I could feel you were in trouble and I thought the worst,” Aziraphale said into his shoulder.

The angel pulled back and his eyes were shining. Memories of how he felt on the floor of the burning bookshop came back to him and Crowley swallowed against the tight feeling in his throat. “I’m alright.”

Aziraphale nodded and let him go before wiping at his eyes. “I suppose I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Everything had been so quiet.”

Something Aziraphale had said niggled at the back of Crowley’s mind. “Wait, how did you know I was in trouble?”

Aziraphale stepped back, looking sheepish. “Well, I, er, back in the 70s I put a—a sort of spiritual lojack on you.”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open.

“I was worried! You were so desperate for holy water and I was certain you were in real trouble and I knew you wouldn’t let me hang around to protect you because you were so angry with me—”

“Angry with you?”

“Well, yes. You wouldn’t speak to me—”

“You wouldn’t speak to me!”

“It seemed for the best!” They had gotten progressively louder in volume until they were both shouting, their words echoing in Crowley’s sparsely furnished apartment.

“Why was it for the best?” Crowley asked through gritted teeth. He had already tried. He’d said enough. It was the angel’s turn.

“You know why,” Aziraphale said petulantly. Normally, that tone and that plaintive expression would have Crowley melting to his whims, but he shook his head.

“You have to say it.”

“You mean too much to me, Crowley. I know you want—This,” Aziraphale said, gesturing between them, “has been the only constant on this Earth for the last six thousand years. I won’t jeopardize it for your whims.”

“What whims?” Crowley scoffed. “You think me pining after you since the Garden is a _whim_ ? You say you put a tracker on me _in the 70s_ to make sure I was safe. I’ve had one on you since Mesopotamia!”

Aziraphale blinked several times in succession. “Is that how you were always there?”

“Yessss,” Crowley said. This was a very embarrassing conversation that he wanted to be over as soon as possible.

“So you’ve really been in lo—”

“Don’t say it,” Crowley warned.

“If I don’t say it then what’s the point?”

“You could just know it? One of those grand unspoken things?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You love me.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley began, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“Yes, my dear?” the angel said, drawing closer and taking his hand.

“Did you really have sex with Oscar Wilde?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

^^^

Aziraphale traced shapes into Crowley’s bare shoulder. “Was that alright? We don’t have to do it again if you don’t like.”

Crowley tipped his head back from where it was rested on Aziraphale’s chest. “If you keep asking me questions like that, I’m going to say something dreadfully sappy and neither of us want that.”

“You absolutely know that isn’t true and that I would love to hear whatever it is, no matter how ridiculous.”

Crowley groaned but said, “I like being close to you and if this is what you like, then I like it too.”

Aziraphale looked down at him with his trademark smile. “That was very sappy, my dear. How embarrassing for you.”

“Shut up,” Crowley said, but he didn’t really mean it.


End file.
